


This Will End In Flames

by sydneygremlins



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bisexual Dean, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Cooking, Cute Castiel/Dean Winchester, Dean’s Repressed!, Destiel - Freeform, Destielgate, Domestic Bliss, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fake Marriage, Fake Relationship, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, Found Family, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, Help i’m going feral, Hurt/Comfort, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Kinda?, Longest thing i’ve ever written omg, M/M, Mutual Pining, One Shot, Pining, Profound Bond, Repressed Dean Winchester, Slow Burn, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Wedding Rings, Weddings, Wing Grooming, Yearning, bc i’m on season 4 and still want to write destiel fic ig, fake marriage au, fluff fluff fluff, help what do i tag this, hes’ not concerned so much that he likes guys, i started the second mishapocalypse and now i’m trying to cope bc i got hit by DEANCAS FEELINGS, inspired by Carry On by Rainbow Rowell, more that he likes CAS, no ties to canon, ugh just domesticity generally
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:01:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28493559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sydneygremlins/pseuds/sydneygremlins
Summary: In a quiet place in Dean Winchester’s heart, a flame roared. Its flickering light was born of kindness, of some nameless, ageless love, of affections he found he couldn’t speak but felt dearly all the same. Of his love for Cas.But even though Cas was all Dean had ever wanted, even though Cas was the one who his gaze caught on and his hands brushed over and his chest throbbed for, he knew that nothing would come of it. Nothing could.But Cas was an angel.Angels didn’t feel love.But then, over afternoon research on a rainy Thursday that was otherwise completely ordinary, Cas said, “We should get married.”Or: Fake Marriage, with plenty of pining and homoeroticism thrown in. Marked as Mature for brief descriptions of sex but they can be skipped :)
Relationships: Castiel & Dean Winchester, Castiel & Jack Kline, Castiel/Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Jack Kline & Eileen Leahy, Sam Winchester & Jack Kline, minor Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester - Relationship
Comments: 51
Kudos: 215





	This Will End In Flames

**Author's Note:**

  * For [allenabeille](https://archiveofourown.org/users/allenabeille/gifts).



> Thank you Al for the story prompt– this is the best thing I’ve written so far, I think. Your prompts are always spectacular <3
> 
> Thank you, kind reader, for clicking on my work! I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.
> 
> Edit from February 2021 — I just reread this after letting it sit for so long I laughed at the jokes because I didn’t expect them. It has mistakes and it’s not perfect but, damn, I did a great job on this, and I’m proud of it.

In a quiet place in Dean Winchester’s heart, a flame roared. Its flickering light was born of kindness, of some nameless, ageless love, of affections he found he couldn’t speak but felt dearly all the same.

As if animated by some unseen force, metaphorical dry kindling found its way to the flames and crackled into ignition. And thus, the fire grew large, tall and bright, the type of bonfire that you can feel the heat of from ten feet away, that leaves bright spots in your vision for hours.

The flickering mass of writhing flames in Dean’s heart, that burned a little hole in the walls of his soul, that let him open up just a little, let him  _ feel _ , was for Cas. It was all for Cas, it felt like it always had been. Dean couldn’t imagine himself without their, as Cas’d described it,  _ profound bond _ . It was a fundamental part of him, as much as his iron-sharp instincts for hunting and his bone-deep aversion to talking about emotions.

But even though Cas was all Dean had ever wanted, even though Cas was the one who his gaze caught on and his hands brushed over and his chest throbbed for, he knew that nothing would come of it. Nothing  _ could _ . 

Cas was an angel.

Angels didn’t feel love.

Angels didn’t feel love, or hate, or joy. Those emotions were too human, too unfamiliar. They were God’s soldiers, carrying out His righteous orders, or so Cas had said. And, yes, admittedly, Cas was no longer truly an angel, but nature versus nurture, right? He’d grown up an angel and he’d  _ been _ an angel, and even though now he fiddled with his coat and got hot sauce all over his chin and scratched at bug bites, all such human things, surely those millennia of not feeling anything were still sticking around? Surely all those long lectures about faith and obedience and being far removed from humanity were still rattling about in his head?

It was this line of thinking, or adjacent ones, that Dean tended to fall back on when Cas was staring at him a bit too intensely or fixing his clothes a bit too tenderly.  _ He doesn’t understand human social norms _ , he repeated in his mind when Cas was standing in such a way that their faces were only inches apart.  _ He doesn’t know what this means _ , he thought over and over as Cas snuck fries from his plate, or kept a hand on Dean’s arm as he showed him something.  _ He was an angel, he doesn’t understand it _ , he thought desperately as Cas cupped his face after a close call with some vampires.

It worked to convince him, but only partially.

Even so, that part seemed to be enough to make Dean believe it to be true, because when, over afternoon research on a rainy Thursday that was otherwise completely ordinary, Cas said, “We should get married,” Dean could barely believe his ears.

His brain barely processed the words for a few moments. Then, they hit him like a truck. Had he been standing, Dean would have stumbled backwards, winded. Even sitting at the table, he was struggling for breath.

_ Married _ . A concept, though biblical in origin, that had morphed into something so human, too human.  _ He just doesn’t understand it _ , Dean thought desperately.  _ He doesn’t mean– he doesn’t mean  _ that _ by it. He can’t. _

“I… yeah?” Dean stammered, words catching in his throat over and over.

“Yes.” Cas’ gaze was serious and level over the rim of his mug of tea, blue eyes clear and startling to look into, even after so long of knowing him.

Dean’s words were unsteady still, but he managed an, “I mean. Sure,” before he realised quite what he was saying.

Cas nodded, once, decisively, then continued thumbing through his Enochian book and sipping his tea, one leg crossed over the other, button-up crumpled, looking so thoroughly human for a single flash of a moment that Dean’s breath caught sharply in his chest.

Dean’s mind was, quite firmly, opposed to reading about Pagan rituals for the rest of the evening.

Upon Cas’ request, while Sam was working a case, Dean drove them to a nice little progressive church in Lawrence. The ride was uncomfortable, hovering on awkward.

A pastor who insisted they call him Randy instead of Father ushered them in and showed them everything they would need to do during the ceremony. 

“We don’t want anything official by law,” Cas told Randy, “Just a nice event to remember.”

Randy nodded enthusiastically at that, and showed them the (admittedly quite nice) main hall of the church in which he would perform the ceremony.

Dean didn’t quite understand why Cas wanted to get married. Cas simply hadn’t explained. It wasn’t, of course, due to any sort of reciprocated feelings– now, that was unrealistic. 

Dean  _ had _ heard of people getting married for more practical reasons, though; tax benefits, namely, but Cas wasn’t getting taxed to begin with, so it still made no sense.

Even so, he wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth, so when Cas looked at him fondly in the dappled light of the stained glass windows of Randy’s church, and when Randy asked if they took each other to be their, while not lawfully wedded, wedded in spirit, husbands, Dean looked right back and Dean said he did.

And when Cas kissed him for the very first time on their wedding day, Dean kissed him right back.

Embers flew and the fire roared.

The initial giddy feeling of being  _ kissed _ by  _ Cas _ faded as they wandered back into the parking lot. Cas held his hand without any explanation as to why. 

They clambered into the Impala, and by then the contentment had disappeared, replaced with an odd kind of tension that made Dean’s skin crawl. He couldn’t decide on an artist to listen to, and he was trying  _ really _ hard not to bounce his leg because that would most definitely interfere with his driving, but it was getting to him.

“So,” he said, about ten music-less minutes in.

“So?” Cas said. He was sitting in the passenger seat for some inexplicable reason. Dean couldn’t say he minded the view, though, as odd as it was for Cas to be sat there.

“We’re married.”

“We are.”

Silence stretched out between them, silence that was broken when Cas put his hand on Dean’s thigh like it was a normal occurrence, like it happened every day, and Dean  _ squeaked _ .

Cas tilted his head, confused. Dean gulped– the simple action, that stupid fucking head tilt, was a little quirk of Cas’ he had never expected to find endearing, but here he was, face hot like Cas was tossing branches into the fire with no thought for the resulting heat.

Cas’ eyes bore into him, piercing, steely.

“I,” Dean laughed, embarrassed, averting his gaze. “I wasn’t expecting–” he made some vague noises and shrugged.

Cas nodded patiently like that fragment of a sentence let him understand the situation in its entirety, and they carried on. Dean bit his lip.

Dean put on the radio another five minutes in, after the looming prospect of conversation became too much to bear, suffering through the bubblegum pop for the sake of not having to talk feelings and not fucking up the wonderful thing destiny had dropped in his lap.

Even though the fire had been given the equivalent of a whole fucking wooden house to burn on, life, surprisingly, continued much the same as usual once Cas and Dean got married. They had no rings, nor did they talk about it to anyone else (Cas seemed to understand that Dean wasn’t comfortable being open about That sort of thing), so only one crucial thing changed: the touching.

Where Cas and Dean might have been hovering on the edge of Too Much Touching To Call Strictly Friendly before, now, it was off the charts, soaring to such heights it made Dean’s hands flutter with bubbling, joyful energy whenever it happened.

Cas held Dean’s hand, he reached up to touch Dean’s face or fix his collar, he sat right next to him on the couch so their legs pressed against each other, he made a habit of keeping a hand on his thigh when they were in the Impala alone.

And, of course, they kissed. A lot.

Their first  _ proper _ kiss, after their wedding, was at the tail end of a hunt. 

It had just been the two of them as Sam and Jack had elected to stay home, so when they made a stop for gas and (very late) dinner, it was just them in the car.

Dean wolfed down his double slices of pie like he hadn’t eaten all day (which he hadn’t). Cas was a bit more careful with his burger, taking small, measured bites and savouring each one.

“You’re such a dork,” Dean said, after pointing out how Cas was eating. He folded his used single-use napkins into his empty paper plate and put it on the dash.

He’d meant it as a simple jab, but Cas smiled at him warmly. “So are you,” he said, voice quiet, then he leaned across and kissed Dean again. He tasted like crappy gas station burger and over-sweet ketchup, and Dean closed his eyes.

It was chaste, just a soft touch of lips, but it made searing emotions well up in Dean’s ribcage, threw dry wood at the fire till it was raging, burning into Dean’s cheeks and his hands and his feet and pumping so much energy into his system that he was thrumming with it, that he was deepening the kiss, that he was grabbing at Cas’ shirt and whimpering and pulling Cas closer. 

Cas was soft and scratchy and strong and gentle all at the same time, humouring Dean’s sudden passion, letting him work off the burst of energy, then turning the kiss gentle and fond again, slowing it down, when Dean started to tire.

Dean reached up to hold Cas’ jaw. The stubble there was so unfamiliar compared to Dean’s previous experience in this field, but it was all he’d wanted for so long, so he leaned into it and let Cas cup his face in an old car on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere.

_ This will end in flames. _

Dean frowned at the book and turned it over again to look at the cover.  _ Wayward Son _ , it read, in large type. He chuckled– like  _ Carry On Wayward Son _ . A classic. 

Two guys were painted on the cover in bright, bold colours: one with messy brown hair and red wings, the other with long black hair and a floral suit. A road in some red-desert region stretched out behind them, and a bright blue sky. Dean turned the book back over to read the blurb. 

_ The story is supposed to be over. _

_ Simon Snow did everything he was supposed to do. He beat the villain. He won the war. He even fell in love. Now comes the good part, right? Now comes the happily ever after …  _

_ So why can’t Simon Snow get off the couch? _

_ What he needs, according to his best friend, is a change of scenery. He just needs to see himself in a new light …  _

_ What he needs, according to his best friend, is a change of scenery. He just needs to see himself in a new light …  _

_ That’s how Simon and Penny and Baz end up in a vintage convertible, tearing across the American West. They find trouble, of course. (Dragons, vampires, skunk-headed things with shotguns.) And they get lost. They get so lost, they start to wonder whether they ever knew where they were headed in the first place …  _

“Huh,” he said aloud. It seemed to be the second book of a series. The bit about monsters also caught his interest– something akin to his life, in an old car, driving across the States.

“Dean!” Sam called from over at the other side of the bookshop. “Found it!”

“The hex bag?” Dean asked distractedly. 

“Uh-huh!”

Dean returned the book to its shelf, but something about the tagline–  _ this will end in flames _ – sat with him. 

When Cas pushed him against a wall the moment they were alone in the bunker, the phrase bounced around his head, not silenced truly even by Cas’ tongue in his mouth. 

Something like discomfort settled in his gut, something which he ignored as best he could, trying to appreciate the pros of Cas spending every spare moment making out with him– a surprisingly difficult task, he found out. 

Still, though: under hands on ribs and bodies moving in tandem and pleasure sparking behind closed eyelids, Dean ignored the constant hum of  _ this will end in flames, this will end in flames.  _

He went back to that bookstore after the case was over and bought both books of the series. He didn’t tell Sam.

“I like the snow,” Cas told Dean matter-of-factly, grocery bags crinkling in his hands as he stepped over a log.

Dean crunched through it, scowling. “I’d like it more if I still had my damn coat,” he grumbled, shivering a bit to embellish his point. 

Cas chuckled. Dean tried not to let the joy at seeing Cas happy because of something  _ he’d _ said make him smile. He turned his face away when he failed miserably, opting to look at the white-coated forms of the evergreens and the skeletal frames of the deciduous trees .

“Again, Dean, you’re the one who tore it.” 

“Fate is against me,” Dean insisted, glancing back at Cas to catch his reaction.

Cas laughed, fully, properly laughed, head tossed back, smile splitting his face. The sound was bright in the quiet winter scene that surrounded them.

Dean grinned and giggled along with Cas.

Then, just as suddenly as he’d begun laughing, Cas stopped, thoughtful. He handed Dean the bag of groceries he was carrying, which also held the scraps of Dean’s mauled coat. Dean took it with only a questioning look.

Cas untied his scarf from his neck, then looped it around Dean’s own.

His face grew hot. “You don’t need to–”

“Don’t worry about it, Dean,” Cas said, and he kissed Dean, and Dean was glad they were the only ones on this grocery run, because he whined into Cas’ mouth and dropped the (thankfully not fragile) bagged groceries into the snow. Though, even if they’d been cartons of eggs and bags of potato crisps, he wouldn’t have cared, because Cas backed him up into a tree, ungloved hands wrapping around the back of his neck, pulling him down, and Dean’s hands fit perfectly on Cas’ waist. And now a warm blaze was going steady in Dean’s abdomen, flickering up to his face as Cas broke away to press his lips to Dean’s cheek, jaw, neck, then meet his mouth again, and Dean had never known a world so perfect as one where Cas was holding him like this. Even though Cas didn’t feel the same. Even though Cas probably just wanted to fuck someone and Dean was the easiest option. Even though their relationship was bound to crumble when Deans true feelings inevitably came to light. 

They kissed and kissed until the freezing cold was no longer seeping into their limbs, until Dean could barely tell it was winter at all. They kissed until they were both panting hard for breath, and then some.

Thankfully, Sam assumed that they’d just gotten lost in the Wal-Mart or something, and just nodded  _ hello _ to Dean and Cas when they wandered into the kitchen with the groceries, and Jack didn’t seem at all phased by the time they’d taken, and immediately bounced into a rambling description of the book he’d started reading.

Even though Dean now had (and was, weirdly enough) a husband, he still had plenty of time alone to mull over his situation and, inevitably, become increasingly distressed about it.

He could only guess why Cas was suddenly interested in a relationship, let alone with him. 

_ Maybe it’s some weird angel thing _ , he thought, watching Cas worry his lip with his teeth as he pored over a book.

That, at least, made sense: Cas had never really understood human customs and social rules, had always been a bit removed from human interaction. Maybe he was just curious.

The thought that Cas wanted to be with someone but not specifically  _ him _ made a little pit of hurt kindle in Dean’s chest, throbbing painfully.

Even though a general curiosity about human, ahem, activities, explained all the kissing that Dean and Cas had been getting up to, it entirely didn’t explain why Cas thought it was necessary to marry Dean in order to do it.

At first, Dean had wondered if he simply didn’t entirely understand the concept of marriage, but then he remembered that Cas was literally there when it was invented.

Then, intrigued, he Googled what exactly the Bible said about marriage, but the results weren’t exactly enlightening, just a whole bunch of waffling about ‘sacred covenants’ and an over-use of the word ‘consummate’. He scowled as he closed the tabs.

Then Cas set down the book he was reading and declared he was going to bed. Sam nodded and continued translating a dead language into another equally dead language. Dean followed a non-suspicious ten minutes later.

He all but forgot about his worries in the events that ensued.

About a week after they got married (Dean was still having trouble wrapping his head around the whole concept of him and Cas being  _ married _ ), a week that was generously laced with them stealing moments in empty motel rooms, back alleys, or, one notable time, a disused room in the bunker, Cas suggested he move into Dean’s bedroom. Well, not quite suggested outright, but the sentiment was there, amid the touching of skin and mouths and hands to bare skin, the scrabbling of blunt fingernails down backs in blind fits of pleasure, the animal sounds that Dean moaned into Cas, trying to keep his voice down even though the walls of the bunker were definitely thick enough to cut off the noise. 

The sentiment was there enough in the way that Cas grasped at Dean’s hair, muttered praise into his ear, held him as he shivered down out of his high, that Dean could parse it, find it, suggest– no, plead– with a rusty voice that Cas stay. 

With an ”Of course, Dean,” murmured into Dean’s neck, and a subsequent pressing of lips to the same site, Cas agreed.

And thus, Dean woke up one comfortable morning to Cas’ lips on his forehead, his temples, his jaw: tiny, soft scatterings of kisses, accompanied by a hand on his neck and legs tangled in his own.

Dean blinked the sleep out of his eyes, then, half-awake, reached out. 

He could hear Cas’ exhale as Dean’s hand found the skin of his waist, then his gravelly voice rumbling out, “Good morning, Dean.”

The sharp throb in Dean’s chest returned in full force, twanging painfully, and the feel of Cas’ voice in his own chest, the hand on his neck, the fading imprints of Cas’ lips all over his face, each was another piece of kindling, to fuel the fire living in his chest, the fire that cast warm light over the painful recesses of his soul. 

_ I love you _ , he wanted to say. 

“Hey,” he whispered instead, not trusting his vocal cords to work just yet, and not trusting himself with such a big announcement so early in the morning, and especially not one that would surely require a complicated conversation after being divulged. 

So, to distract from the longer-than-normal pause before he’d spoken, Dean opened his eyes. He was greeted with the sight of Cas, monochrome in the half-light, smiling at him. 

Cas appeared to be mostly awake. His eyes weren’t  _ bright _ , per se, but they weren’t as hazy as Dean knew they could be. 

“Hey,” Dean said again, staring at the lines of Cas’ face, etched out in gray and black and blue, blurry in the dim lighting of their room.  _ This will end in flames _ , he thought, tracing his eyes over the rough lines of Cas’ jaw in the half-light.

Cas was giving Dean that relaxed almost-smile that Dean had learned to appreciate when it appeared, where his happiness was all in the creases around his eyes, maybe a tiny quirk of his mouth. Dean almost broke down right then and there, almost sobbed in Cas’ arms about how that look undid him; how that look was a whole branch to the fire and made him go fucking mental, because he didn’t deserve a look with that warmth, didn’t deserve to be regarded so fondly. He buried his worry deep in his heart.  _ Just gotta appreciate it while it lasts. Just while it lasts. _

Cas dipped forward and pressed his lips to Dean’s forehead. “We don’t have any prior commitments. If you want, you can just sleep. I’ll watch over you.”

“Thanks.”

Dean dozed for a while after that, comfortably curled into Cas’ chest in their bed.  _ Theirs _ . The thought made his heart stutter.

The flame burned steadily away, feeding on every point of contact, the gentle look in Cas’ eyes as he regarded Dean, the kisses that had welcomed Dean into consciousness, the way the stained glass light had played on Cas’ face as they stood in Randy’s little church on their wedding day. 

Dean smiled into Cas’ warm skin at the thought. 

Cas crept up behind Dean one day while he was cooking breakfast and wrapped his arms around Dean’s middle. This initial contact was followed by him pressing his face into Dean’s shoulder, then kissing the back of his neck. 

Dean shivered slightly at the touch, then leaned into it. He tried not to burn the pancakes. 

“Hello, Dean,” Cas said.

“Heya.”

They were silent for a moment, but it was a perfectly comfortable silence. The kind that is companionable and warm and so tangible you could wrap yourself up in it like a blanket and be soothed to sleep by the easy trust you hold with whoever keeps this kind of silence with you.

“This was meant to be breakfast in bed,” Dean admitted. Things that would’ve been embarrassing to him before were getting easier, and he was glad for that.

“I appreciate the sentiment,” Cas said, voice muffled, “But I was beginning to get a bit restless.”

Dean leant back into Cas, marvelled at the fact that he could do that at all, and waited for the newly-added pancake to brown. “Fair enough.”

Dean didn’t think he’d ever felt so comfortable in a screamingly domestic situation as he did while making pancakes with a whole angel hanging onto him and occasionally kissing his neck, but every grazing of Cas’ lips on his throat made warmth well up in his chest, made him tremble and bask in Cas’ body heat. 

He could get used to this.

A particularly bad nightmare saw Dean shocked awake at some unholy hour in the middle of the night, sweating and rattled. He twitched, trying not to wake Cas, a fruitless effort, as Cas was touching him with pretty much all the skin that could conceivably touch– hand on his chest, hand on his neck, face tucked over his shoulder, legs tangled.

Cas shifted, then whispered a quiet, “Dean?”

Dean winced. “Hi. Sorry I woke you,” he murmured.

“Don’t be sorry,” Cas said, adjusting volume to match Dean’s.

Cas shifted again.

“Is something wrong, Dean?”

“Nightmare,” Dean explained shortly.

“Oh.”

The silence stretched infinitely in the inky shadows of the small hours in their room, far underground.

“Do you want to get up for a bit?” Cas asked. “Reset your brain.”

Dean sighed contentedly as Cas’ hand drifted to his hip. “Nah. Lemme just–”

He sat up and took a long swig from the water bottle he kept on his nightstand. Cas waited patiently as he shuffled back into a lying position and adjusted the covers.

“What was it about?” Cas asked once Dean was settled back in.

“I… nothing specific, it was kinda a mix of stuff, y’know? Mostly just a kinda… looming bad feeling.”

Cas hummed in response. “Do you remember anything distinct?”

Dean breathed out slowly as he tried to dredge up the already rapidly-vanishing details that return to him in vague flashes.

“Something… something happened to Sam. And Jack. And uh, you. You all got… hurt, or, or something, taken away. I don’t know. I couldn’t–” Dean paused, feeling more than a bit choked up. “I couldn’t save you,” he finished, his voice no more than a whisper. “It was just another version of every other time I’ve failed you guys, every other time I’ve fucked up and gotten someone killed. Every other time I’ve made a mistake that, by all rights, shoulda made someone up and walk out on me.”

“Dean,” Cas said firmly, but not unkindly. “Dean.”

“Hi,” Dean said, voice trembling.

“Your mistakes are just that, Dean: mistakes. You couldn’t control the outcomes of those circumstances.  _ It’s not your fault _ .”

Dean exhaled shakily. “But it still happened. I still fucked up.”

But Cas stood firm. “Your mistakes don’t make you a terrible person. They don’t define you. You’re still worth being loved, Dean.”

Cas saying ‘loved’ made something catch in Dean’s chest, even though he knew Cas meant he was loved in a different way than how he wanted.

“Thanks, Cas.”

He fell asleep with Cas’ hand on his neck and with his own on Cas’ chest, cocooned in warmth. His sleep was devoid of dreams, to the point where he wondered afterwards if Cas had used the last dregs of his grace to incite that.

Dean didn’t get much chance to read books, and even when he did, his attention usually wandered too much to understand plots of any sort. Thankfully, the books he’d bought–  _ Carry On,  _ the first book in the series that  _ Wayward Son _ belonged to– were Young Adult, so they weren’t too difficult to comprehend. Or, at least,  _ Carry On _ wasn’t. He turned another page just as Cas opened the door to their room.

“Hey,” Dean said absently.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas said. He sat down on his side of the bed, turned open the covers, then snuggled right up to him, putting his head practically in Dean’s lap.

Dean’s entire body short-circuited. His grip on this book slackened.

Not a short-circuit as drastic as they used to be when Cas was so intimate with Dean, so readily, so easily, but definitely enough that Dean’s heart picked up its pace and his skin tingled where Cas was touching him, even through layers of clothes.

“What’re you reading?” Cas asked, head pressed against Dean’s stomach, and Dean could melt with how normal Cas was making this.

“ _ Carry On _ ,” Dean said. 

Cas shuffled around on Dean’s lap so he could see his face. “Like the song.”

“Yeah. Like the song,” Dean agreed, and he threaded a hand through Cas’ hair, ruffling it for a moment. “Why’d you join me?”

Cas smiled up at him a little. “Why not?”

Dean hummed. “Good point.”

_ This will end in flames,  _ a little voice insisted. Dean resolutely ignored it in favour of keeping a hand on Cas’ shoulder.

“Dean?” Cas said one lazy afternoon cozied up in bed together, “Could you help me groom my wings?”

“Could I what?” Dean asked, attention still halfway directed to his phone. He looked up.

“Help me groom my wings,” Cas repeated, sitting up. He took his shirt off in one swift motion and, just like that, his wings sprung into existence: giant masses of almost-black feathers that made little rainbows where they hit the light, like motor oil spilled on asphalt, like dark crystals or fragments of dreaming.

Dean jumped, then gaped for a moment, then said, “Sure, babe,” surprising even himself with his use of the endearment. He put his phone on the side table and sat up, then reached out with tentative hands.

“It’s okay. Don’t be nervous,” Cas assured him.

“Uh-huh.” Dean swallowed, afraid to hurt Cas, despite Cas’ words. “Lemme just–” he scooted over so he was sitting behind Cas, a better position to touch Cas’ wings from. “Here goes.”

“I trust you, Dean.”

Dean trailed his hands lightly over the arms of his wings, getting a feel for the texture. There were some larger feathers that were out of place, and he noted this aloud to Cas.

“If you brush your hands over them– yeah, like that– they’ll straighten out quite easily.”

Dean did as he was instructed, pausing every so often to admire the holographic sheen of Cas’ wings. At one point, he scritched the short feathers at the base of his wings, and Cas melted back into him, boneless, shivering, bare skin of his back against Dean’s tee, wings limply tucked next to him.

Worry sprung to life in Dean’s gut immediately, painful and hollow. “Cas? Hey, hey, Cas, buddy. You okay?”

Cas sounded dazed as he spoke, but he said, “I’m perfectly alright.”

Dean exhaled, relieved. “Good.” He snaked his hands down to Cas’ waist, moving his palms along the bare skin until Cas sighed and leaned back into him, shuffling around a little to get into a more comfortable position.

“Grooming wings is a– a very personal thing. Usually it is only done between angels of the same– oh,  _ oh _ ,” he gasped when Dean brought his hands up to the join of his wings to his back again. “Same flock,” he said breathlessly when Dean paused to kiss between his shoulder blades.

“Oh?” Dean hummed, working his hands through the soft feathers, going one wing at a time.

“Yes,” Cas said, breath shuddering. “The sensation is– different, more– more intense, I guess, when I’m on this plane.” He hissed at the end of his sentence. Dean’s hands stilled.

“Sorry, did I hurt you?”

“No. No, not at all, Dean. It’s– it feels good.”

Dean grinned even though Cas couldn’t see him, and trailed his hands lightly over the larger feathers at the end of his wing. “What are these guys called?”

“Primaries.”

“Hm.” Dean brought his hands up to the smaller feathers at the base of the primaries. “What about these?”

“Primary coverts.”

“Huh. These?” Dean asked, hand on the smallest feathers at the end of the wing arm.

“Alulas. They help guide flight.”

Dean hummed his interest, then leaned forward to kiss Cas’ neck. “If these are primaries, are these… secondaries?” he asked, dredging up ancient memories of reading books about animal anatomy as a kid.

“Yes,” Cas said, twisting his head around a little to catch Dean’s mouth.

“These tertiaries?” Dean asked, voice muffled against Cas’ lips.

Cas chuckled. “No. Scapulars.” Then, he turned around, taking care not to knock Dean over with his wings, and pinned him on the bed in a swift movement.

“Hey,” Dean said, voice shaky.

“Hey,” Cas repeated. He then wasted no time in kissing him senseless, throwing the fire in Dean’s heart into a flickering, roaring frenzy.

A hunt gone wrong led to a vampire throwing Dean onto the end of a rusty metal pipe, the force of the shove driving it through his back. Thankfully, Cas was there and ready to step in. Well, run in, more like, eyes ablaze with silver-blue, like twin suns. 

He shouted something angry and unintelligible in English and something equally rage-filled in Enochian, the words of the ancient language buzzing into Dean’s skull, reverberating in the base of his neck. Then, in a flash of holy light, the creature that had so unkindly shoved Dean towards the wall was nothing more than a pile of dust and a soul in hell.

Then, Cas rushed over to Dean, whose vision was fading, pulled him off the pipe, and, supporting Dean’s weight, bathed him in warm gold grace. The sticky feeling on Dean’s stomach faded, and he gingerly felt the area of skin that had been impaled– it was back to normal.

“Thanks,” he muttered.

Cas said nothing, merely dropped a flash of a kiss on Dean’s temple and helped him stand.

One night, as Dean and Cas laid in bed, Dean couldn’t stop himself from asking.

“Why’d you do all this?”

Rightfully confused at Dean’s vague question, Cas said, “Sorry?”

“Why’d you, y’know. Marry me and all.”

Cas frowned up at Dean in the dark. “Marriage is between two people who love each other, yes?”

Dean’s heart skipped a beat, then dashed into a frenzied, arhythmic tattoo inside his ribcage. “What?”

Cas sat up, brow furrowed deeply. “I love you, Dean. Why else?”

Dean scrambled upright, face heating. A warm, expansive ache flared up in his chest.“I thought–” he began, but he couldn’t bring himself to continue.

Cas put a hand on his side. “You thought what, Dean?” he asked, voice gentle.

“I thought you, uh,” Dean mumbled, “Thought you just wanted to uh, uh, be with. Someone. Not, like, me, specifically.”

Cas’ expression was sympathetic, sad on Dean’s behalf, then quietly determined as he brought a hand to Dean’s jaw. “It’s always been you, Dean. Only you. I thought you knew. I’m sorry.”

Dean stared at the enigma in front of him, the angel whose intentions he thought he understood. He stared like what Cas had just said brought all of his wildest dreams into reality, because it had.

“You….”

Cas threaded his hand through Dean’s hair. “I love you,” he said again, simply.

“In a romantic way?” Dean asked weakly, not quite daring to believe it.

“In a romantic way,” Cas confirmed.

“Not in a bro way?”

Cas leant forward and kissed Dean softly. Pain welled in Dean’s stomach at the tenderness of the action, at how gently he held Dean’s face, how gently Cas’ lips moved against his. “Does this seem like a very bro thing to do?” he asked when they broke apart.

“I mean–” Dean began breathlessly.

“No,” Cas cut in. “ _ I love you, Dean. _ ”

“Not in a dude way.”

Cas sighed. “Not in a dude way.”

Dean grinned, then leant forward to bury his face in Cas’ neck. “Love you too, man,” he said, voice muffled even to himself.

Cas laughed, one hand in Dean’s hair and one on his lower back, and held him tight for several long, comfortable moments.

“Hey, maybe we should get wedding rings,” Dean suggested, feeling light as a blue-black weirdly reflective angel feather.

Cas hummed, and Dean enjoyed the sensation of sound in his chest. “Maybe we should,” he agreed, then dipped his head to press his lips to Dean’s temple briefly. 

“I’m thinking these,” Dean said, beckoning Cas to the glass display cabinet that he was standing at, in a jewellery store just outside of Osborne.

Cas tilted his head as he walked over.

“Iron, simple enough that they won’t get stolen, nice enough that they won’t get ratty.”

Cas observed the rings Dean was indicating with a scrutinising squint, then nodded. “I like them,” he said, with a soft smile and a sideways glance at Dean.

Dean grinned back. “Great.”

After a few minutes’ conversation with a store employee, they had acquired two plain, shiny iron bands in matching blue boxes. Dean was grinning the whole time.

When they got back to the Impala, they spent a good half minute kissing, Cas in shotgun, then Dean broke away to breathlessly say they should get going.

“Where are we going, Dean? This isn’t the way back to the bunker.”

Dean grinned. “‘S a surprise.”

Cas hummed in response.

The buildings began to recede, fewer squares of brick and concrete flashing by, replaced instead with typical Kansas fields, sparse trees and long grass.

They drove in silence for ten minutes. Dean could hear Cas’ breathing under the rumble of the engine and the hissing of the wind. Then, Cas took something out of his coat pocket– something which Dean quickly realised was a tape– and put it in the player.

“The mixtape you gave me,” Cas explained at Dean’s questioning look. The familiar drums and bass of  _ Immigrant Song _ started up, thundering quietly, cymbals clashing. 

Saltwater welled in Dean’s eyes. “You, uh. You keep it with you?”

“Of course. Always,” Cas said, so simply, so matter-of-factly, that Dean had to turn away and clear his throat a few times to get back to normal. The vocals started up.

“I ain’t gonna get used to this, man.”

“This?”

“Yeah. Us. You being so– so, I dunno,  _ open _ , about everything. It’s weird.” Dean glanced over at Cas as he spoke, trying to keep his eyes on the highway enough to not crash. 

Cas smiled, then put a steady hand on Dean’s leg. “Everything will become natural in time. I’m just glad you let me say these things to you. You deserve to know how much you’re worth.”

“Goddamnit, Cas,” Dean said, voice rusting over. 

Cas smiled wryly. “Yes, dear.”

Dean’s hands jerked on the steering wheel. 

“Dean!” Cas exclaimed, distressed. He jumped as Dean (and the car) did, hand flying out of contact with Dean’s thigh.

Dean quickly got the Impala under control again, then shook his head to rid himself of the blush that was quickly creeping up his cheeks. “Sorry. I–” he spluttered for a moment. 

“Would you rather I hold back on using terms of endearment?”

Embarrassed, Dean nodded.

“Dean. It’s okay. I understand that this is all very new to you. You don’t need to be comfortable with everything right away. Take your time, Dean.”

Dean sighed. “I know, I know. I just… shit, man, you fucking proposed to me and I can’t even handle you calling me a pet name. Feels like we’re on way different levels of, I dunno, accepting our feelings or something.”

Cas’ hand returned to Dean’s leg.

“Take your time, Dean. It’s okay. I’ll wait for you,” he assured Dean, voice a low rumble that Dean could feel in his bones alongside the purr of the Impala.

“Thanks,” Dean croaked, and turned up the music loud. The steady beat settled somewhere in his chest, and he drummed his fingers against the wheel. 

_ We come from the land of the ice and snow, _

_ From the midnight sun where the hot springs flow. _

_ How soft your fields so green _

_ Can whisper tales of gore, _

_ Of how we calmed the tides of war. _

_ We are your overlords. _

Something like ten minutes later, Dean stopped the car with a huff of the engine on a backroad surrounded by trees. He offered Cas his hand once they’d both gotten out.

“I feel like I recognise this road,” Cas said thoughtfully.

Dean swung their joined hands slightly as they walked in tandem. “I’ve taken you here before.”

Cas hummed interestedly. They walked for a few minutes along a gravel path that crunched under their feet with every step, until they came to a lake, shining in the crisp afternoon sun of mid-spring.

“Oh,” Cas said, almost reverently. The sun played across his face, golden light reflected in his eyes. 

A sudden urge to kiss his cheek surfaced in Dean. He followed it, then leaned back to grin at him. “Remember?”

Cas turned to him, face joyous. “Yes.”

A few years ago, Dean had gone on a fishing trip, and Cas had accompanied him out of curiosity. They’d spent the golden hours of the still evening having slow conversation as Dean waited for the fish to bite.

Cas had said he’d enjoyed their night as they drove back home, so Dean had taken to offering that Cas join him on his fishing trips. It had become one of their  _ things _ , right up there with long, intense stares and refusing to say anything important outright. Dean had come to love the long afternoons and bright mornings that they spent at the lakeside, sometimes talking about the latest hunt, sometimes about the movie they’d watched the previous night, sometimes about nothing in particular, just talking to hear the words in the air, talking to share something.

Dean led Cas along the dock.

“Aren’t you going to get your equipment?” Cas asked, confused, as Dean dragged him by the hand.

Dean kissed him once, on the mouth. “Nah. I came here ‘cause it’s important to us. And pretty. I want to talk, not fish.”

“We talk when you fish.”

Dean chuckled and drew Cas towards him, resting his head against Cas’ neck for a moment. “I know, I know. But, well. Seeing as our first proposal was kinda impromptu and all, I thought we deserved, y’know. Something special.”

“Any experience I share with you is special, Dean.” The sound of Cas’ voice reverberated through his chest, and Dean slipped his fingers under Cas’ trench and suit coat to feel the warmth of his skin through his button-up.

“Hey. Stop being sappy. I’m trying to do something nice here.”

Cas laughed quietly. “Okay, Dean.”

Dean drew back again to look at Cas properly, then snaked a hand down into his own pocket. “Well. Here goes.”

He dropped to one knee.

The ring sparkled in the dying sunlight, the bright silvery metal standing in stark contrast to the blue fabric it was nestled in. Dean took a deep breath.

“I love you. I love you, a lot, and I’m sorry I don’t say it more. And, well, we’re already married, but our wedding was kinda small, and I think we deserve to celebrate with our friends, and, damn, I shoulda planned this speech.”

This elicited a huff of amusement from Cas. Dean would’ve been embarrassed about his verbal stumbling had it been anyone else, but instead he beamed up at his husband. “Yeah, shut up,” he said happily.

Cas limited his amusement to a small, wry smile.

“ _ Thank you _ . So, as I was saying. I love you. You’re my best friend. Not–” he added hastily, at Cas’ quirked eyebrow, “I’m not friendzoning you, I–”

Cas chuckled gently. “I know, Dean. It was meant in jest,” he explained, a smile playing at his lips that was still small but no longer wry: he looked genuinely happy.

“Okay. Okay.” Dean broke off to wheeze for a moment, then recovered himself. “Can’t a guy propose in peace?”

“Sorry.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Well, I’ll make this quick so you can’t interrupt it. You’re the best person I’ve ever met, you’re kind and smart and funny and amazing and you taught me it was okay to let people love me. And, well, I love you. Marry me again?”

Cas beamed. Well, the equivalent of beaming, for Cas, whose expressions tended to be somewhat muted. Dean grinned back.

“Yes. Of course.”

Dean’s cheeks started to ache from all the smiling as he stood and embraced Cas, then kissed him briefly. He brought Cas’ left hand up with his own, opened the ring box, glanced up at Cas briefly before sliding the ring on.

Cas closed his eyes, expression blissful, breathing the fresh air in deep. “I love you, too, Dean,” he murmured.

Dean held his face when he kissed him again, then they stood, foreheads pressed together, swaying gently, Cas’ hands on Dean’s waist.

“Your turn,” Dean said quietly, after a few moments of silence bar the lapping of the lake and the gentle rustling of the treetops.

“Sorry?”

“Your turn to propose. Again. Well, with a ring this time.”

Cas huffed a laugh again, then retrieved the other ring box from his coat pocket. He cleared his throat, then held the box open between them, staring down at it as he spoke. “Dean, I am in love with you. We’re already married so I’m… a little confused as to why you want me to propose again. Um. What do you say in a proper proposal?”

“Something sappy,” Dean supplied.

“Why would I be talking about trees? That’s very off topic. Unless it’s a metaphor? But–”

“Not tree sap, idiot,” Dean said lovingly. “Also, you’re meant to be on one knee.”

Cas tilted his head. “Why?”

Dean cast around for an answer, and found he had no idea. He told Cas as much. “Tradition, I guess.”

Cas nodded. Then, still looking vaguely confused, he knelt. “I could say whatever I wanted in Enochian right now and tell you it was very romantic.”

“Nothing romantic about breaking my ears, babe.”

Cas flushed. “Good– good point. Yes. Um.”

Noticing Cas’ discomfort, Dean relented a bit. “Hey, if you don’t want to do this, you don’t need to. I just thought it would be nice to–”

“No!” Cas interjected, startling Dean. “Sorry,” he said, more quietly. “No. I want to say this, I’m just not sure how to go about it. I just need a moment, Dean.”

Dean nodded. “Take your time.”

Cas squinted up at him. “I said that. Before.”

“Yeah, I stole your line, shuddup.”

Cas smiled a little, then looked away, gathering himself. “I love you. You’re the best man I’ve ever known. As you said of me: you’re kind, in fact, you’re driven by kindness, by care, by  _ love _ . You fight for this world for love, and you– you care  _ so much _ . You taught me how to care, too. For the first time, after Heaven, I… I felt. I felt for  _ you _ . And I fell for you. In more ways than one.” He chuckled dryly, then met Dean’s eyes earnestly. “Dean, I feel true happiness when I’m by your side. I don’t want it to end for a very, very long time yet.”

Dean choked back tears. “Damn, Cas….”

Cas tilted his head. “Was that good?”

Dean laughed and motioned for Cas to stand. “Made my speech look lackluster,” he said, kissing Cas on the cheek after he did. “Thank you.”

Cas pressed his lips to Dean’s jaw, then took his hand to slide his ring on.

“We’re engaged,” Dean said.

“Again.”

“Again,” Dean agreed.

They kissed for a long time in the dying sunlight, fire swelling in Dean’s chest, warm and comforting, sparking light in his ring, light that caught and shone in all directions. The lake rippled slowly under the wooden dock, and slowly did their mouths move too.

Dean shucked his coat off and sighed. Cas closed the bunker door behind them.  _ We’re home. _ Home and married. Well... engaged. (Again.)

“Hey, guys,” Sam said when they walked into the kitchen. It was some time past eight, so he wasn’t eating, merely reading at the table.

“Heya, Sammy.”

“Hello, Sam.”

Dean opened the fridge and pulled out some leftovers of Vietnamese takeaway. “Hey, Cas, grab some bowls, would ya?”

Dean could tell Cas had done as he’d directed by the clinking of china and cutlery. He dumped some food into a glass bowl, keyed in forty seconds to the microwave and set it buzzing.

“Dean?” Sam asked, a note of confusion in his voice.

Dean turned around to face his brother. “Howdy.” 

“Is that– are you wearing a wedding ring?” Sam said incredulously, lowering his book.

Dean grinned. “Yep.”

Sam gaped. “Wh–  _ who _ ?”

Cas was hovering in Dean’s personal space, and Dean took advantage of this to take Cas’ left hand to show off the shiny ring.

“Pick your jaw up off the floor, Samantha. It’s just a ring.”

“I–  _ Yeah, _ a  _ wedding _ ring,” Sam countered, gesturing wildly. The microwave started to beep.

“More like an engagement ring, actually,” Dean corrected, retrieving his food. “Neither of us are legally, uh, alive-slash-existing, so having a proper wedding would be difficult.”

“We did have the ceremony in Lawrence, though,” Cas mused. Dean nodded as he doled an equal amount of steaming food into the bowls Cas had set on the counter earlier.

“You had a  _ what _ in Lawrence?” Sam demanded. He closed his book. Dean handed Cas his bowl. “How long have you been married? What the hell? Lawrence is a few hours away, man, what–”

“Like, a few months. Only got the rings today, though.” Dean sat down at the table opposite Sam. Cas sat next to him.

Sam puts his head in his hands and mutters to himself. Dean hears a few snatches: “A few months…  _ Lawrence _ … Oh my God.” He shovels noodles in his mouth and chews as he waits.

“Thanks for the congrats, man,” he says after he’s done chewing.

“No! I–  _ Congrats _ , dude, but also, like, twelve years.” 

That catches Dean short. “What about twelve years?”

“ _ I watched you stare at each other for twelve fucking years _ ,” Sam grinds out. “Do you know how frustrating it was? Oh my God. Jesus. That took you guys  _ way _ too long.”

Dean turns to Cas. “Do we really stare at each other that much?”

“Yes, you do,” Sam answers for Cas.

Dean sighs overdramatically. “Let my  _ husband _ speak, Sam.”

Sam rolls his eyes. Dean chews his mouthful of food so he can stick his tongue out at his brother, then turns to Cas expectantly.

“Well, we do stare each other in the eyes a lot, so I suppose Sam is right,” Cas says awkwardly, as if he wasn’t expecting to actually get a word in over Sam.

“Are you guys, like, doing a ceremony?”

“We’ve already had a ceremony. We do want to have a celebration, though, which I assume is what you mean?”

“Yeah.”

Cas nods at Sam. Dean doesn’t realise he’s staring at Cas until Sam calls him out on it.

“Jeez, man, let me look at my  _ husband _ . Cool it.”

Sam sighs loudly, but then he smiles. “I’m glad you guys finally worked your crap out. I was starting to think you never would.”

Smiling genuinely, Dean takes Cas’ hand on the table. “Thanks, dude.”

“Why do you have matching rings?” 

Dean and Cas exchanged a look.

“Well, Jack–” Cas began, but Dean also started speaking at the same time.

“We’re married!”

A grin flitted across Jack’s face, then camped there. “That’s good!” he said brightly. Then, more slowly, “That’s good, right?”

“Yes. It is,” Cas confirmed, smiling.

Jack beamed and rushed to hug the both of them. “I’m so happy for you guys.”

Cas was absolutely beautiful in a blue suit. Cas was absolutely fucking gorgeous in the bright morning light in the woods with an arch of flowers behind him and all of his and Dean’s family looking on and crying and smiling. 

Dean loved him so much. So damn much that he wanted to scream it off the top of a mountain, wanted to shout himself hoarse about Cas’ beautiful eyes, about his stupid-cute head tilt, how gentle his hands were. He felt like he could run for miles on all the energy that seeing Cas smile gently, just for him, in a blue suit with his tie crooked and his hair ruffled even though it was their wedding day.

Cas’ vows were short and simple, effective and somehow beautiful. Dean’s chest ached when Cas looked at him with infinite kindness and love as he finished reciting them. 

Dean’s were a little more rambling, with some jokes interspersed because he couldn’t bear to be too emotional all at once. 

Jack  _ sobbed _ in the front row, then dabbed at his eyes with his sleeve. Sam clapped Dean on the shoulder and said his congratulations once more. Eileen hugged them both. Charlie grinned incessantly. Bobby hugged them too, told them they’d grown so much in the past dozen or so years, told them he was proud they’d worked their shit out. Claire hugged them tight and proclaimed, teary-eyed, that she was super glad her two dads were together. Dean tried not to sob at her calling him her dad. 

The congratulations started to blur after that, dozens of joy-filled embraces and sincere speeches. The afternoon was exhilarating. Cas was beautiful. 

Dean stumbled backwards into a dark, dingy alleyway. “Son of a  _ bitch _ ,” he spat, wrestling with the werewolf that had tackled him. It growled and hissed enthusiastically, trying to rip its teeth into Dean’s skin, but he pressed his iron ring against its throat and it recoiled, spitting. 

“That’s right, bitch,” he said, and he was getting ready to just shoot the damn thing when something great and heavy leapt at him from behind and down he went, landing painfully on the concrete, hands scraped in a futile attempt to break his fall. Blood welled up on his palms even as what he could only guess was a second werewolf clawed at his back. 

“ _ Fuck _ ,” he yelped. He tried to scramble upright but it was no use, the wolf had him pinned. His breath was sharp and painful, throat scratched from shouting. 

Then, blessedly, a saving grace: a blast of holy light, dual whimpering from the wolves as they transformed back to their human forms, permanently, and desperate hands on Dean’s jaw, helping him sit up, then finding his wounds and healing them. 

“Cas,” Dean grated out roughly. 

“Shhh,” Cas said, not meeting his eyes, instead taking Dean’s hands in his own and infusing them with holy warmth. Dean closed his eyes. His heartbeat started to calm down, jumping less erratically. 

Cas checked his back and chest to make sure he’d gotten all of the wolf scratches in his first go, then drew back to scold Dean. 

“What were you thinking? Going on a hunt like this alone? You knew there were multiple werewolves, why didn’t you call for backup?”

A deep pit of shame grew in Dean’s stomach, and he dipped his head, embarrassed. “Sorry. I shoulda– I shoulda asked Sammy. I thought I could handle it on my own.”

Hot tears welled in Dean’s eyes. He screwed his eyelids tight, trying not to let them fall. “Sorry, Cas,” he said hoarsely. 

Cas’ mood changed in a moment. “Dean,” he said gently, bringing his hand up to Dean’s cheek and brushing away the tears as they traced tracks down his face. “Dean. I just want you to be more careful. I’m not– well, I am angry, because you could have gotten hurt, but it is only out of concern. Look at me, please, Dean.”

Dean looked up.

Cas softened. “Thank you. Dean, I want the best for you. I’m sorry that I upset you, that wasn’t my intention.”

“It’s fine. I need to be more caref–”

“No. It’s not fine.” Cas brushed the hair that had flattened itself to Dean’s sweat-slick forehead out of his brow. “I don’t want to see you hurt, and I won’t always be available to save you. Please just– just promise me, promise me you will be more concerned for your own safety?” 

“Yeah,” Dean conceded. “Promise.”

Cas kissed him, once, chastely. “Thank you. Now, let’s help these people.” He helped Dean to his feet and they started their work explaining to the former werewolves why they were out in a random alley the city at three in the morning with two random guys. 

Dean held Cas’ hand the whole time. Tight. 

“What are you making?” Cas asked, standing in the doorway, hair half ruffled, half pressed flat against his scalp. He was wearing a flannel– one of Dean’s, upon closer inspection– and sweatpants, an odd look for him.

Dean rolled his eyes. “Good morning to you, too.”

“It smells like pancakes,” Cas said, wandering over to inspect the ingredients and sniff the batter. 

“It is pancakes.”

Cas nodded, then kissed Dean on the cheek before starting his morning coffee. Dean’s heart swelled. 

Jack appeared some time after, signing animatedly about a new show he’d started watching to Eileen, who appeared genuinely interested. He grinned at the pile of pancakes in the middle of the table, and thanked Dean excitedly. Dean nodded and leant against the counter as he waited for the newest additions to cook. Cas stood next to him, sipping his coffee and watching Jack with a warm expression. 

“This is my second breakfast!” Jack announced, signing as he spoke. The pancakes were starting to bubble on the edges. 

Dean raised an eyebrow. 

“Yeah, I had cereal at, like, six.”

“When do you wake up?” Dean asked rhetorically, shaking his head dramatically. He flipped the pancakes. 

“Five-thirty!”

“You’re turning into a proper little Sammy, there,” Dean said, feigning disappointment. 

As if on queue, Sam appeared. “Hey, Dean. Hey, Cas.” He got a plate, some pancakes and yoghurt, then sat down next to Eileen, who was nodding along to Jack’s rant about why the Master was ‘super annoying’ and how the Doctor ‘needed therapy, so much therapy’.

Dean grinned at Cas. “Love you.”

Cas smiled gently back. “And I, you.”

Dean kissed him. He tasted coffee-bitter and beautiful-sweet. 

Dean stared into the fire, letting the light draw purple on his eyes. He was a few feet away, but he could feel the heat on his knees and his face. Sam was long asleep, safe and sound in the bunker, and it was just him and Cas hanging out in the small stretch of trees outside the bunker, watching the dying light of their bonfire. 

“Hello, dear.”

He started at the sound of Cas’ voice, then relaxed as his husband sat down next to him on the bench. “Hey.”

Cas joined him in looking at the fire for a few moments. “Are you alright?” he asked gently. “You look zoned out.”

“I’m fine,” Dean assured him.

He turned when he could feel Cas’ gaze even though he was looking away. 

“Really?”

“I… I dunno, dude. I just… I read, once, in this bookstore somewhere, the tagline was like, ‘This will end in flames,’ and, well, I can’t stop thinking that about us. I know it’s stupid, I just–” he cut off abruptly to stare at his lap, fiddling with the seam of his jeans.

Cas took Dean’s hands in his own, gently, delicately. “You think I don’t love you enough to stay? Or that some stupid fight could ruin this?”

Dean nodded minutely. 

“Dean,” Cas said, and the way Cas said Dean’s name made something hurt in his chest even as it made him feel warm and comfortable. It was like he just knew his name was safe in Cas’ mouth. “Dean.”

“Hey,” Dean croaked.

Cas kissed him once, softly. “I love you like I’ve never loved anyone, or anything. I would Fall for you a hundred times over. I would never let anything come between us, save your own discomfort. And, I promise, Dean, I won’t let anything unimportant ruin what we have. I love you. I would never let you go.”

Dean screwed his eyes shut against the onslaught of tears. Cas leaned against him, body warm against his own. “It’s going to be alright, Dean.”

“Thanks, Cas,” Dean whispered before he curled up against his husband. 

Things were somehow sweeter, every already-familiar event making Dean’s heart soar all kinds of different. 

Cas kissing him awake gently was no longer tainted by the looming thought that Cas didn’t love him back– it was made better by the comfortable knowledge that Cas loved him and would never leave him. Cas pressing him against a wall and kissing him hard was all the better, and so was Cas holding his hand while they walked. Cas joined him on fishing trips and kissed him once he’d caught something, they shared a beer on hot evenings and shared a coffee on cold mornings. 

Even for all the gloom hunting brought, with Cas as his husband, life was perfect. 

The fire was content, crackling away brightly, casting its warm light on all the hurt parts of Dean’s soul, healing him slowly, bathing him in gentle affection, bringing light and meaning. 

Dean had Cas. He had Sam. He had Jack. All his friends, spread across the States but united in the bunker once every three months for game night. All his family, his proper family. The family who he loved and who loved him. The family who he’d fought for a hundred times and he’d fight for again without hesitation. 

Dean couldn’t have asked for more. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are encouraged– they give me incomparable amounts of serotonin and motivate me to keep writing :)
> 
> I have other SPN works on my account, as well as some Doctor Who and Sherlock works, if those interest you.
> 
> As always, thank you very much for reading! My love & best wishes to all my readers.
> 
> And for Alden: Thank you very much for the prompt. I will now continue writing all the other works I impulsively started because of a suggestion you made. <3


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